


Spring Rite

by slire



Series: The Shadow Biosphere [2]
Category: Mushishi
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Gen, Sacrifice, Superstition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1419955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slire/pseuds/slire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is common knowledge: Ginko must not remain at one place too long, or he will become a nest for mushi. </p><p>"Well," a village elder says to himself, "it's time to test that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring Rite

Shiroku was a village situated deep within the Japanese main land. It was surrounded by eight holy mountains. Those were the reasons for its location, defying the unkind terrain and harsh weather. It'd been founded by a priest 200 years ago. Accessing it takes two days by foot, dependant on one's strength of will.

Ginko discovered this as he nearly fell of a cliff. "Shit—!" he cursed. The area was near impenetrable in starlight. Thank god he knew how to navigate using it. 

He'd been called to Shiroku two weeks ago. There'd been no details, just an address and a word: URGENT. Adashino had forbidden him from going.  _"Your body is tired, Ginko. Your limbs crack as you move. There are seeds of sickness in you. If you do not rest, they'll grow, and you'll become violently ill."_  But Ginko's conscience screamed louder than his sickly body. He was a docile creature, but not a guiltless one. He'd begun the hazardous journey despite the of winter approaching. Thankfully, snow had yet to fall.

His mood changed as he noticed lights not far from the foot of the mountain. Shiroku. A great fire was lit in the middle, enlarging the huts' shadows. There were about 60 huts, a tenth unlit and possibly abandoned. He saw no mines, no lakes and the fields were unfit for agriculture.

Upon closing in on the village, a strange sensation warned him.  _'There is something here...'_ He felt it prickling underneath his skin. _'Something else.'_  But if he stopped to wonder, the heavy clouds in the south would reach him. He wandered on.

Exhausted, frozen and half-ill, he entered an inn. It was a great stone structure with candles flickering in every window. Inside, there were voices. The door opened and Ginko fell to his knees on the wooden floor. The noise ceased.

"Ah," someone said. "You must be the mushishi. We've been waiting for you, boy. I'm Hiroko, the village's elder. I run things around here." A bald man stood before him. He held a cane, his back was bent, and he wore a crooked smile. The men in the inn were watching him.

No move was made to help him up. Ginko had to do it himself, standing up on shaky feet. "You s—said it was urgent," he said stiffly. The inn had stone walls, flame in the hearth and sake on the counter. No mushi.

"It is," Hiroko replied. "We shall show you at once."

Ginko gestured to his torn garments, "I do not wish to intrude, but I'd like some rest first. Do you have a room?" he asked the innkeeper. The innkeeper just stared at Ginko like he was some sort of unearthly beast. "I'm sorry," Ginko apologized, "but I really am exhausted." His main reason for persisting was because of a question— _'Where is the mushi?'_  He was accustomed to an ethereal humming and rustling. In this village there was a spiritual silence, as if the Path of Light had been extinguished. Was it his sickness? His tire?

The things he carried felt heavier than usual.

"Sleep can wait," Hiroko said. His smile was strained. "At least take time to evaluate the situation. It is very... urgent." He headed for the door, and gestured to Ginko to follow. Ginko could not put his finger on it, but something was off. The elder guided him to a path between the stone huts.

Onlookers flocked to the sides of the path. It appeared the inhabitants of the inn had run out and warned the others. Little children were pointing and whispering, hushed by their parents; parents who looked like they'd encountered death itself. Everyone kept their distance except a group muscular looking men who walked closely behind Ginko.

"Do you receive many visitors?" Ginko asked. Uneasiness crept into his tone and down his throat, pooling in his stomach in the form of dread. He could not see Hiroko's face, as he was walking in the front of Ginko.

"Not really. Have you been practising for long?"

"I have wandered far, though I don't count the days."

"They say you are most powerful mushishi in centuries. Is it true?"

"I don't know. I operate differently than others."

"How so?"

"I treat both humans and mushi with respect. That's all."

A noise of disbelief went through the gathering crowds. The adults started whispering now, too. The elder stiffened, but only for a moment.

"You attract a lot of mushi."

"Yes, I do."

The whispering becomes relieved.

The dual line of huts came to an end. However, the path continued, paved up towards the mountains. Torches were lit along it. It led to a small cave situated at the foot of the tallest mountain. Its insides were dark, devoid of flames. The followers stopped. The elder (and some of the men) continued.

Ginko had a coughing fit, but the men shoved him forward. He gulped, but kept his head cool. "Have you been infested with mushi for long?"

"Yes, yes. A very long time indeed," the Hiroko mumbled. "Follow me now, mushishi." He held up a torch, guiding them inside the cave.

The entrance was gigantic. The rough textured walls were wet and infested with fungi. It headed straight ahead, endless. A womb. As the fire lit it up, the walls closed in. Symbols were painted and carved into the walls. Was this  a shrine of some sort? He saw offerings of candles, seeds, nuts, coins... Small statues—some human, other not—with plinths that dead animals in winter skins hung on, turning the shrines into altars. A strong odour erupted from bowls sake or blood or ink. Still no mushi. Wind blew through the cave. It stretched deeper into the mountain core than Ginko had first believed. He knew many species of mushi that thrived in cold, damp environments. Most of them were very rare and dangerous. Ginko shuddered. Having travelled far, he was used to different temperatures, but ill health and tire lowered his tolerance.

"We're here."

The elder held his torch up. It lit up a large space with countless holes in the walls, varying in size. Water fall from some of them.

Between four major ones was a wooden plate, bolted to the wall. Rust or blood, it was hard to tell. Chains hung on the side. There were about a dozen of them, connected to the walls and floor. All were made of gold; too expensive for a lonesome mountain village. There were manacles on their ends.

The implications made Ginko nauseous.

"I'd like to leave now," he said quickly, turning.

The men blocked his past. They advanced.

"I," began the elder, "don't think so."

In lieu of fighting, his body convulses in another abrupt coughing fit. The men replace their grimaces of repulsion with stone façades. They grab his arms, hands, feet, pushing him towards the plate. Ginko attempted to fight them with words like "Please—!" and "Don't—!" and yelled in pain as they fractured his nose. He was fastened to the chains.  _Click!,_   _click!, click!_ , they go. He looked like frozen Messiah hung to the cross, bloodied and beaten.

"Do not fight it. Do not fight fate." the elder said. "I will document your sacrifice, like I did with all the others, mushishi."

First when they left him, the humming began. Behind him, under him, above him— _inside_  him. His senses screamed dangerous.  _'Mushi,'_  Ginko thought, desperation whirling in his head.  _'I am a sacrifice. For... mushi...'_

.

.

_This rite has been going on for a long time. Ever since Father found this place's secret and founded this village, we have dutifully followed his instructions, and so, prospered._

_We chain the body to the rock in fall, before the first snow. The men light up the cave. All through the winter, you can see it. That white lump there. Oh, as long as it's frozen it can't feel anything. So it's none the worse for it._

_The parents of this village are, as always, hesitant to let their children go near him. But we have found that children are less likely to be... drained... even if there have only been thirteen deaths of adults who came too near the feast. The children supply him with the remedy we harvested eight years ago, when the last and weaker mushishi came to help. They bring the current mushishi little gifts, and thank him for his sacrifice. Ignorant children. As if it was capable of feeling, or hearing them, in its current state. In time, they'll learn._

_The first batch of mushi has come already. We do not name them. Such creatures are not worthy of names. But we harvest them. And this season, I believe it'll be a big harvest._

.

.

_Of late, the pale sun grows stronger. And the blood in the body will be melting now, and begin to stir. By now, it might've warmed enough to force itself into the shrunken veins. You can't imagine the pain, in the warming of nerve endings, so long dormant. A thousand frostbitten fingers over fire wouldn't amount to half an idea of it._

_Only the bravest children dare venture into the cave now. The screams are intolerable._

_The next batches of mushi have arrived. These are larger in size than I've ever seen! I cannot count the number, and the girl who went near it was nearly snatched up by a unity of strange mushi, working as a hive mind of sorts._

_By now the sun is softening the flesh. But it won't soften the rock, nor those chains. Those are a hundred percent solid gold, traded for a small part of our harvest a long time ago. The body is not going anywhere._

_When will it rot, I wonder?_

_._

_._

_Above the cave, it glitters in the sunlight. The foot of a glacier. Ice water runs down the mountain and through the holes. It over the body, stealing its warmth and adding torment from outside to the pain swelling within. If the weather holds, it won't be long until the breakup. It starts at the summit. Sharp cracking as it tears away from the mountain's face. A low rumbling, as it begins to slide. A low rumble as if you thought the planet itself was sick._

_It is larger than most years._

_Should you watch through a telescope, you'd see mushi mending with the snow._

_He lives._

_Or, at least that is what she told me. He lifted his head to the light. Or what she believed was his head, as it is completely unrecognizable and completely covered, by now._

_That must have been a moment of truth._

_._

_._

_The boy I sent did not dare to step into the cave bellow the mountain. He said there was no way in. The place was swarming with mushi, he claimed, and you could no longer spot the body as they had consumed all light. I commanded him to try again. He hasn't come back. I assume the worst._

_This is the fourth child to disappear this week._

_A villager dared to defy me last week. A parent; a mother of a missing child, to be exact. Women, such traitorous whores. After all I have done for them. Well, I suppose I was a little strict in her punishment. But I had to set an example._

_Our harvest is prosperous, but dangerous._ _I have never seen so much mushi in my life._

.

.

_The snow has started to slide down the mountain. Tons of it. Tearing out trees and rocks and everything in its path. Increasing and execrating as it goes. Headed for the village. That's how nature cleans herself._

_But it is wrong! It isn't supposed to come this near!_

_I continue watching from my window._

.

.

_It isn't snow. It's an avalanche of mushi._

.

.

.

.

.

Ginko rose.

The golden shackles were reduced to nothing. He took his things and changed into fresh clothes.

Wordless, he left the ghost village.


End file.
